Shadow Of The Day
by moniquecailin
Summary: Daughter of Islanzadí and sister to Arya Svit-Kona, Gwendolyn has long resided in Ellesméra. Lover of Morzan's son, Murtagh, Gwendolyn must make a choice: Destroy the Empire, or follow her heart…defying those who have bled to save all they believe in.
1. The Choices We Make

_A/N: _You know how when most of us writers read a book—or watch a series on television—you kind of get this wicked idea that it'd be really, really cool to spin it your own way? And so, therefore, after the constant reading of _Eragon _and _Eldest _out of pure boredom, this somehow spawned.

Gwendolyn is an OC, and has no part in either books, as with Adela (her handmaid), and a few other random characters that may or may not emerge. Also, I ask that you wipe some things from your mind to grasp the concept of the story: Islanzadí, Queen of Ellesméra, has two daughters, one of them Arya and one of them Gwendolyn. Thus, we start from both the first and second book.

Alas, before we continue, I'd like to point out that for the first fair few chapters it's just planning for me, and so when we near the end, I'll be able to have a bit of fun with it. Therefore, lean back, have a drink…and enjoy.

* * *

Gwendolyn ran her hands slowly through her hair and looked blankly into the unlit fire. Ellesméra was unusually cold. The windows of her bedchamber smashed against each other angrily. Outside, the sky was black and the wind howled like it had never before. Elves and animals alike succumbed, and those who were still outside fought their way back home. Gwendolyn made her way over to the windows and shut them.

There was a slight tapping on the door and Adela emerged, bowing politely. "Lady Gwendolyn, the Queen wishes to speak with you—she says it is urgent."

Gwendolyn was silent for a moment, though did not turn away from the window. "And yet she could not walk such a short way to tell me this herself?"

Adela shook her head. "No, Lady. The Queen is busy, though she sounds distressed."

Gwendolyn nodded and turned from the window, exiting her bedchamber as Adela followed closely behind. Without a second glance, she walked briskly past the guards as they opened a door embedded in a wall of saplings, revealing a room of trees and what appeared to be an entire assembly of elf lords and ladies. Islanzadí muttered something to the elves and within a swift movement they stood up from their chairs and exited the room.

Gwendolyn bowed her head. "You wished to speak to me, Mother."

Islanzadí managed a smile. "Sit, my daughter."

Gwendolyn did as she was told, placing herself in a nearby chair. As Islanzadí sent for mead and bread, a jolt of fear rushed through Gwendolyn's body. It would take something serious, if not unimaginable for an entire assembly to gather this night.

Adela came in with four slices of bread and butter and two cups of mead on a tray, set them down and with a bow hastily left the room. There was silence.

"I am sorry I could not come to you myself…as you could see I was somewhat occupied." Islanzadí said softly, watching as her daughter took a sip of mead to rid her dry throat.

Gwendolyn nodded thoughtfully. "I understand."

Islanzadí attempted a small smile, though it diminished as soon as it appeared. "I fear that Arya has gone missing while transporting one of the dragon eggs from Tronjheim to one of our elven cities, Osilon. While we cannot do much about the situation, I agree that under the circumstances it is best to withdraw our warriors from the Varden."

Gwendolyn had to force the mead down her throat, wanting very much to send the contents inside her mouth spraying across the room. "What do you mean you cannot do much about the situation? Send your men to find her! For goodness sake Mother, she is your daughter, and my sister! I'm sure the Varden are willing to help—if the egg has been taken…"

Islanzadí raised a shaking hand, revealing how distraught she really was. "Hush, Gwendolyn. It is because of them that Arya is in this predicament. I will have no further contact with the Varden. That, at least, is certain."

Gwendolyn was silent for a moment. "The Varden do not know, do they?"

"I have dispatched a messenger to tell the Varden, for I believe they have the right to know. After that we will have nothing to do with them." Islanzadí replied. "A few of our soldiers discovered Arya's steed, as well as her guards Fäolin and Glenwing slain along with a few Urgals. Arya and the egg, however, are missing."

Gwendolyn put her mead down and steadied her hand. "If Arya and the egg are missing…do you think it has something to do with the Empire?"

Islanzadí stood up. "Perhaps. Now we have settled that, there is another matter I wish to speak with you about. You must understand the measures this situation has caused me to take, Gwendolyn. I'm afraid that, while we are left in the dark, I must forbid you to see Murtagh."

This time Gwendolyn stood up, the two cups of mead struggling to stay upright as she bumped the table. "Beg my pardon, Mother,but I fail to see what Murtagh has to do with this."

"Murtagh has everything to do with this. You know I do not accept him, and as long as I live he will not set foot in Ellesméra, and there are reasons for that. Murtagh, no matter whether he has taken the path of good or evil, is still very much a threat to our civilization." Islanzadí explained. "For all we know he could have decided to join King Galbatorix and you are but a tool he can use to gather information."

Gwendolyn's face burned a shade of red. "Why must a man's father determine the actions of his son?"

Islanzadí almost looked desperate. "My daughter, I did not mean to insult you. A mere mortal such as Murtagh would follow you blindly through the darkness if it meant he could see your face once more. But know this: because you and Arya are both my daughters, my actions very much determine who you are, and more importantly, who people see you as." She took a breath and cupped Gwendolyn's cheek with her hand, "I know I cannot forbid you never to see him again. I can only hope for your sake that when this war ends, Murtagh will have proved himself as an ally, and one worthy of royalty so beautiful."

Gwendolyn faltered. "I—"

"I would not ask this of you if it were not necessary, Gwendolyn." Islanzadí said quickly, afraid her voice might betray her emotions.

Gwendolyn bowed her head, hiding her face from plain view. "For you, my Mother."

Islanzadí slumped down in her chair with relief, opening her mouth to say something when Gwendolyn rushed from the room. Once in the privacy of her own bedchamber, she shed tears for Arya, herself and Ellesméra, Adela silently entering the room and holding her as she wept.


	2. Love Me Tender

_A/N: _There is a mature scene in this chapter. It does not affect the story in any way. If you don't feel comfortable reading it, skip.

Oh! And because Gwendolyn goes and visits Murtagh, half way through I suddenly realized she'd have to take a long trip because a) he's not allowed in Ellesméra, no matter how rugged he may be, and b) because I'm so out of it, and I had to come up with some random name for a city. Or town. Whatever floats your boat. So no, it hasn't been mentioned—yet—in the Eragon book (maybe once).

I apologize if, in the third book, it _is _mentioned..._fully _mentioned...and turns out to be a land full of Urgals, or something. It probably has been used in Christopher Paolini's books, and hopefully it's safe to use. I swear to God, I'm innocent. All you need to know is Gwendolyn is visiting Murtagh. That's it. And he happens to be lodging somewhere completely irrelevant. Go along with it.

Also, this story is rated M for caution: there may be strong violence, sex scenes and/or swearing. If you don't like either of these things, do not read. Mistakes _may _be made, so please, for the love of God, put your rifles down. If it's a recurring mistake, tell me so I don't look like an idiot.

* * *

Gwendolyn hugged the cloak around her tighter, pulling the hood back over her face as a sudden gush of wind tugged at it. After four tireless days of riding, Ceunon's entrance was almost visible amongst the mountains. She pulled on her horse's reins and did naught but ride until she found herself breaching the village's thick walls.

Unlike others, Ceunon found no need to protect their village; it held just enough room for its people, shops and houses. Other than that, there was very little of value.

Gwendolyn soon found herself in front of a small cabin. She craned her head to see if anyone had discovered who she was, though it appeared there wasn't. After a moment of cautious, but not necessarily unwanted silence, Gwendolyn slid off her horse and allowed him to wander.

The lights in the cabin were lit. Gwendolyn smiled as the drawn curtains were replaced with a shadowy figure. He was home.

Gwendolyn reached out for her horse, stroking him tenderly for a long moment. Her face suddenly sober, Gwendolyn leant down so that her lips were close to her companions' ear, "Stay, Ohen. We ride in the morn."

Ohen shuffled his feet in reply, and Gwendolyn braced herself. With a shaky breath, she trudged slowly up to the heavily barricaded door and began to knock.

There was silence, yet she was certain she could hear something being withdrawn from a sheath. More silence. And then the door was flung open, revealing a dark-haired man with nothing but breeches and a sword—a sword that was pointed so close to Gwendolyn's throat she could feel the very tip of the sharp weapon. A small smile played on her lips, well hidden by the hood she had thrown so carelessly over her head.

"This is extremely amusing, Murtagh. Surely, if I were an Urgal I would tremble in fear." Gwendolyn could not help herself, and so she laughed. The sight of him—though she wanted to rip what was left of his clothes off then and there—was hysterical.

Murtagh didn't laugh, and instead pushed the sword closer to her throat. "Show yourself."

Gwendolyn raised her hands, the tips of her fingers slowly pulling the hood off her face until she was in plain view. Murtagh lowered his sword, thoroughly dazed. His stomach lurched at the sight of her, not only because she was there in front of him, but because she had abandoned her formalwear and instead wore a loose, white dress, her hair falling freely around her. Murtagh should not have been surprised—she was, no matter what she wore, always beautiful, and more so than any other maiden he had set eyes on. It was a sight he was reluctant to part with, and yet…

"You shouldn't be here." He said, tearing his eyes away from her gaze.

Gwendolyn smiled, indifferent to his words. "I was not followed, nor do I have the slightest intention of leaving. I have not traveled almost a week so I can see you in just your breeches, no matter how fair you look in them, and make a hasty exit."

Murtagh smiled. It was just like Gwendolyn to say something like that. He opened the door for her, and before he could react, she jumped on him, all ladylike thoughts flying out the darkly lit room. She had abandoned her cloak, and was now only in her dress, legs wrapped around Murtagh's waist as they kissed.

Gwendolyn laughed lightly as Murtagh bit her lower lip playfully, and in an attempt to stifle further laughter, she kissed him harder. Her hands were wrapped firmly around his neck while he directed his kisses lower, from the bottom of her lip, to her chin and then to her neck. How he missed this. How he missed the mere smell of her. How he missed the way she kissed him, almost as if she had not seen him in a million years. How her tongue felt in his mouth.

The weight of her, however, was becoming too much for his arms to bear, and so in order not to drop her, he pressed her back up against the wall. His mouth brushed hers lightly.

"Murtagh," Gwendolyn reluctantly whispered against them, "there is a reason I have come—"

"I know." Murtagh remarked, now from the valley of her breasts. "You have a duty to your people. I would expect nothing less of you."

Gwendolyn halted. So he had known why she had come. Nay, it was not surprising he was fully aware. Was it not obvious? If Galbatorix was after the dragon egg, as many suspected, Murtagh would have known Islanzadí would have ordered her daughter to stop seeing Morzan's only offspring. Word, it seemed, traveled fast.

Murtagh noticed the sudden change in her mood and lifted his head. "I am not upset, for I know as well as you do that once this war is over and I have proved my worth, there will be need for secrecy no longer."

Gwendolyn smiled, purposely trailing the tips of her fingers over his lips. "Do you promise?"

Murtagh smiled. "Aye, I promise."

The words of their conversation suddenly dawned on Gwendolyn: this, undoubtedly, would be the last time they would see each other for an unpleasantly long time. She looked at him with a newfound fire in her eyes, and then, with a sudden boldness, "Make love to me."

Murtagh looked startled. Surely he had not heard her right? He opened his mouth to say something, but too soon where Gwendolyn's lips on his. Nay, he had heard her right. He realized he should have said something as they made their way to the bed, but he could not seem to find his voice. They both wanted this.

Gwendolyn found herself on top, both their bodies tangled on the bedspread. It was not fair, she thought, that Murtagh had on only his breeches, and yet she was still wearing her dress. Without further hesitation, Gwendolyn self-consciously pulled the dress over her head and tossed it across the room.

Murtagh allowed himself to look at her, and took a quick, difficult breath. Gwendolyn, he concluded, had never looked as beautiful as she did now. Her skin was now thoroughly sun-kissed under the dim lights, while her taut pink nipples where partly hidden by her long, golden hair.

He looked up into her eyes and hesitated. She looked panicked. Murtagh's stomach gave a sudden jolt—did she not want to go any further? Had he, somehow, pushed her into thinking she had to do this? Had she suddenly realized she did not love him as he loved her?

Gwendolyn rested her hands on his hard stomach, and her voice, when she spoke, was so soft Murtagh had not heard them. Then, with more courage, she spoke up, "I do not know what to do next…"

Nor did she have to, for Murtagh had pulled her down on top of him and rolled them over until she was on her back. Unlike Gwendolyn, he had had experience in such areas, and was more than delighted to pleasure her like she had never been before. His hands wandered up towards her breasts, and she gasped as he ran a finger over her hard nipple. Murtagh was now suddenly aware of his throbbing manhood, and how aroused he had become. He felt uncomfortable—he needed to be freed of his breeches.

Gwendolyn appeared to have noticed this, for she was already set upon undoing them. After a while of fumbling around, she had completed her goal: they were both lying on the bed, naked.

Gwendolyn invitingly spread her legs, though it seemed Murtagh was not done. Slowly, his large, strong hands grazed her flesh, stopping at her upper thighs. Gwendolyn inhaled sharply as she felt his fingers close to her womanhood. He was going so slow Gwendolyn had to smile—he wanted to savor this, and she was going to allow him, even though her body was screaming for things to speed up. She gasped at the intensity of warmth that filled her as he insinuated a second finger into her opening.

Murtagh smiled when he realized she was already salivating. Gwendolyn's breathing had sped up, just as he had expected it to. He spread the warm substance between her thighs, growing yet even more aroused, if such a thing were possible. Gwendolyn's womanhood burned with desire. She wanted him inside of her _now. _She pulled him up so that his face was now directly hovering above hers, the hardness of his penis now pressed hard against her thigh. Gwendolyn pressed against that hardness, and Murtagh, shuddering with the effort of being so gentle, entered her.

Gwendolyn dug her hands into his back mercilessly, letting out as much a sob was it was a scream. Her first reaction was to gasp and strain away from him, unfamiliar to all the sudden sensations…and then she didn't want to be freed. She felt _safe, _even if they were in the must vulnerable position. Murtagh moved slowly within her, and all the mind-blowing sensations she'd felt when he touched her there returned. She still had her hands on his back as he began to thrust deeper and deeper, gently at first, but when she moaned and gasped appreciatively at his movements he lost all resemblance of self-control.

Her eyes opened suddenly, and she dug her hands into Murtagh's back once more, as if preparing for what was going to happen next. He was murmuring things against her ear, words that in the heat of her passion she could not hear. She opened her mouth to say something, fearing for the integrity of the bed frame as he began to thrust harder and faster. What if it collapsed? Surely someone would hear!

Suddenly, her legs began to jerk and her breath quickened, showing Murtagh how near her inevitable release really was. All her thoughts of the bedframe and alerting villagers of their nocturnal activities vanished.

"Murtagh…" She said softly, aiming to ask him if the feelings coursing throughout her body were normal, but the mere mention of his name sent her into an explosive orgasm. Her climax consumed her, leaving her without thought and holding on to Murtagh's body for dear life, crying out even as she shook uncontrollably beneath him.

Murtagh had rehearsed this scene thousands of times in his head before, but nothing prepared him for this. Never in his wildest imaginations had it been so natural, so perfect…

And then, he gave one final thrust, driving himself as deeply into her as he possibly could, seeking his own release. When it came, he let out a cry of pleasure so forceful even Gwendolyn heard it amidst her wonderful high. He collapsed on top of her, incapable of movement, but both were too consumed with what had just happened to move.

He rolled off of her with reluctance, and once they had both recovered, Murtagh held Gwendolyn to his chest, and together they forgot about the world outside the thick doors which shielded them. For now.


	3. Let That Be Enough

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. 170 hits so far. Not doing too shitty for my first two chapters! People have been asking me how to get me updating quicker. Answer? Review. The numbers of people reading are fairly encouraging, but how am I supposed to know what _you _want? Plus, it'll feed my ego. Woo!

It took me a while to come up with this chapter, mainly because I have no idea what you guys want to happen. Obviously if you say something like, "I want Murtagh and Gwendolyn to have heaps and heaps of babies!" I'm not going to go, "Yeah!" But maybe they will have heaps and heaps of babies. You tell me. (I'm probably very much a hypocrite, since when I find an author on here that produce _the _best stories, I shit myself even _thinking _of sending them a message). Hence forth, I'm not totally proud of this chapter.

And who knows? The more reviews I get, I may (by some miracle) have a mind-blowing idea that can't wait, so there's a new chapter up the very next day. Alas, I'm not particularly happy with my lack of knowledge on how long it takes to travel from Ellesméra to Ceunon, and then from Ceunon to The Varden, etc. I, however, can't be stuffed going back to the books and flicking through them again, so once again, bear with me.

Also, a big thanks to Vera Rose Nightingale for her lovely message. You are all so extremely sweet!

* * *

Gwendolyn had walked out of the confinement of the cabin, reluctantly leaving Murtagh's gentle breathing and sleeping body in the bed. She had been startled by the coldness as she stepped outside: so shielded, so safe, so warm she had been the night before. She should not have been surprised, but it made her want to run back and join her lover in the thoughtless bubble of passion nonetheless. She had mounted Ohen and lingered far longer than she anticipated, for she had just rounded a corner when Murtagh and his steed went cantering off in the opposite direction. Murtagh, she had noticed at the time, was fully clothed and seemed to have packed up all his belongings. He was not, she had realized, going to spend any more time in this place than need be. A part of her had wanted nothing more than to see where he was going; to follow him, make sure he was safe. She lingered on the thought: was it really to make sure Murtagh was safe, or to make certain his allegiance with herself and Ellesméra?

Gwendolyn was so lost in thought she was unsure of the seconds that went past, seconds which soon turned into minutes. As to how many minutes, she had not been certain. Only the sound of a girl screaming had brought her back to reality, and Ohen suddenly lost control. Gwendolyn was flung mercilessly from the back of her loyal companion and hit the hard, damp ground. There was even more screaming than before. Gwendolyn had pushed herself up off the ground and could faintly see the billowing of smoke and figures running in the distance. Ohen, who had slowly subsided from his fit—thanks to the gentle, caressing words of Gwendolyn—allowed her to mount him once more. She moved closer to the smoke, partly out of curiosity. Soldiers were lighting houses on fire, slaying men and a few had even managed to sink so low as to rape the young.

The screaming grew more intense the closer she got. Ohen had reluctantly pushed on, probably wondering why his master was such a fool. A lady such as herself, of high beauty and royalty, would not be killed. If she were lucky, she would become an unwilling servant, or perhaps be used as a tool for deprived men to use and feast their eyes on. It would not matter as much, she thought, if it meant she could save the village—perhaps trade her life in for the lives of hundreds of other men and women. Gwendolyn was about to move forward when a hand had tugged hastily against hers, and she looked down, quite bewildered.

"Milady!" A familiar looking woman gasped. "You must leave!"

Gwendolyn looked down at the lady and let out a gasp as equally stunned as the one she had just heard. And then, "_Adela?_"

* * *

Adela moved as quickly as Gwendolyn had ever seen her move. Her handmaid frantically picked up things they would, in her words, "need for the trip".

"Adela!" Gwendolyn tried her best to remain as calm as possible as Adela moved with such haste she almost tripped over a pouch of gold. "For the love of—"

Adela picked up one last object and dragged Gwendolyn out the door, placing a portion of the things she had selected on Ohen's back, and another portion of things on what appeared to be her own horse. Gwendolyn noticed it was a spare change of clothes and a weeks worth of food and water. The screaming, she suddenly noticed, had subsided.

"It should be enough to last the week," Adela remarked, still in a flurry of activity, "but I've brought enough crowns for more supplies if we should find ourselves low during the next three weeks."

Gwendolyn was becoming increasingly annoyed. "_Adela!_"

Her handmaid spun around, panting slightly. "I'm not sure what is going on, Milady. As to why I am here"—Adela mounted her horse, and Gwendolyn followed suite—"…after what happened to your sister…"

Gwendolyn said nothing.

"'Twas an extremely foolhardy thing, leaving in the middle of the night like that." Adela continued. Perhaps she thought it would get a response from Gwendolyn. It did not, and there was continued silence as both women found their way out of the village gates.

"Did Mother ask you to spy on me?" Gwendolyn finally asked.

"Nay, she did not. My chamber is not far from yours, Lady. I didn't know what you were doing, but I packed supplies just in case…alas, I didn't know how long you would be staying, so I bought a weeks supply of food. There was lodging not far up the road," Adela explained, "so I used the rest of my allowance for accommodation. I'm so very sorry, Milady—you have every right to be mad."

Gwendolyn was silent for a moment. "I am not mad, Adela. Only disappointed that I could not have shared this journey with you, instead of by myself. It would have cured many doubts and lonely nights."

Adela beamed at her words, but said naught as they continued to ride. The first few hours were in comfortable silence, both women replaying what had happened in their minds, drilling it into their memories. There were yet so many questions, and Gwendolyn knew that no matter how curious Adela was, she would not approach the subject unless Gwendolyn did so herself.

Adela stopped suddenly, clambering off her horse. Gwendolyn watched, thoroughly amused as Adela began searching for something, and when she couldn't quite find it her face contorted with annoyance. Suddenly, she pulled out a loaf of bread and a flask of water. Gwendolyn's stomach grumbled as she saw the food and realized she had only been vaguely aware of how hungry she was.

Adela broke off a large piece of bread and handed it to Gwendolyn, along with the flask of water. They began to eat.

After a few moments, Gwendolyn cleared her throat. "Is this what it has all come to, Adela? First, Arya goes missing, ambushed no doubt—while in possession of a dragon egg—and now the Kings soldiers are…"

There was no need to continue. They both had seen what had happened.

"I don't know." Adela said softly. "All I know is we cannot go back to Ellesméra. Not yet. Something _is _happening, and at the moment we're right in the thick of it."

Gwendolyn almost choked on the bread. Almost. "We're not going back home?"

"Nay. It will take us three weeks, perhaps longer to reach the Varden. We can stop for supplies at—"

"—_three weeks?" _Gwendolyn interrupted. "It took only a week for us to reach Ceunon from Ellesméra. Surely the Varden cannot be much further?"

Adela flushed with embarrassment. "Milady, while your horse has been bred and nurtured above all others, strengthened and enhanced in abilities, mine has not. I was extremely hard pressed to keep up with you, and it is an ordeal I would like to avoid at all costs. Now there are two of us, and two of our horses."

Gwendolyn pressed her lips together. She had many more questions, though she did not speak a word. Men, women and children had been killed, raped and tortured this day. Gwendolyn and Adela sat in silence, secretly fearing the worst.

* * *

_"Mommy, Mommy!" A little boy tugged at Gwendolyn's dress. "Come see my new dragon!"_

_Gwendolyn looked down at the boy. He could not have been more than seven years old, she reasoned. So why on earth was he calling her Mom?_

_The boy pulled on Gwendolyn's dress, and she suddenly became aware of her pregnant belly. Gwendolyn placed a hand on her stomach, not entirely sure what to do as the little boy led her out a door and into a large yard. A man with black hair was throwing a giggling girl up in the air._

_"Look!" The boy cried as a small blue dragon came stumbling out of the trees. "He hatched for me this morning!" _

_Gwendolyn nodded dumbly as the dark-haired man placed the little girl on the ground and came to stand by her side. He wrapped his hands around her waist and gave her a light kiss, sending ready chills up her spine. Gwendolyn smiled—only Murtagh could make her feel so._

_The little girl bounded up to her, holding her small hands up in the air. Gwendolyn laughed and picked her up, almost letting out a gasp as she did so: she looked exactly like Murtagh, with jet black hair, defined cheek bones and impenetrable eyes. She was gorgeous. _

_"Mommy, can I have one?" The little girl asked, looking over at her older brother as he played eagerly with his new companion. _

_Gwendolyn was quiet for a moment. How was she to respond? _

_Murtagh noticed, and began to laugh. "Come, now. You don't want to give your mother a heart attack." _

_Gwendolyn smiled half-heartedly and put the little girl down, allowing her to play with her brother's dragon. Everything was so peaceful—she felt warm, safe._

_"We can have this." Murtagh's voice suddenly rang closely in her ear. _

_Gwendolyn turned, her face inches away from his. "Have what?"_

_Murtagh looked out at the two children playing. It was the perfect picture—two loving children, a large house, a husband, a new baby…_

_"This." Murtagh said softly. _

_Gwendolyn felt an unwanted lump rising in her throat. "How?"_

_Murtagh looked at her, his eyes suddenly impenetrable as ever. Gwendolyn almost felt afraid as he held out his hand. _

_When he spoke, his voice was almost musical. "Join me."_

_Gwendolyn stood rooted on the spot. "How?"_

_Her heart spoke for her. _

_Murtagh smiled, and the picture in front of her began to leave. He was fading from her now, his arm still outstretched. Gwendolyn felt incomplete as the scenery began to deteriorate, and although she tried to hold out her hand, to join Murtagh, she couldn't seem to reach it. And then he was gone, almost as if he hadn't been there at all…_


End file.
